


sting

by ossapher



Series: The Macaroniverse -- Lams Modern AU [13]
Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher
Summary: Taking a bath with a healing bullet wound proves more complex than anticipated for John.





	sting

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in a series of related works, all having to do with John and the physical sensations he experiences in the aftermath of being shot. Many thanks to [a-classic-fool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_classic_fool/pseuds/a_classic_fool) for her always-excellent and extraordinarily fast beta work.

“How’d it go?” Alex asks, peeking in the door to John’s bedroom like he hasn’t been listening for thuds and screams for the last half-hour.

“Mm,” John sighs, eyes closed, from the armchair he doesn’t think he’ll ever summon the energy to leave. “Real nice.” True, the part where even his good hand started to shake from exhaustion at the end there had been a little scary, but it was more than worth it for the chance to properly bathe. Well, not _properly_ bathe. But swiping himself down with a soapy washcloth has done remarkable good for his morale, his personal pride, and his smell. As soon as he gathers his worn-out wits enough to feel anything, he’s sure he’ll feel better.

“You look pretty tired,” Alex observes.

“Oh,” John says. He’d meant for it to come out a question, but didn’t quite manage to give his voice the proper lift.

“Did you maybe… forget something?”

John cracks an eye and looks down. “I’ve got clothes on.” Or boxers, at least, which count with Alex, who was with him in the hospital.

“I was referring to the trash bag taped around your arm.”

John regards it blearily. “Oh. That.” Technically it’s not just his arm— it swallows the whole limb and extends past the shoulder. Alex helped him tape it down earlier, all around his shoulder blade, over his neck, across his upper chest, and down around his ribs. A necessary evil, in order to get the rest of his body clean, since his bandages and splint and incisions and all the other fun medical things underneath aren’t allowed to get wet for the time being. Though maybe the trash bag wasn’t the best solution, because it’s starting to feel awful humid in there. Ugh.

“Do you want help getting it off?”

“Please.” John paws at the tape on his chest and feels unexpected resistance. Crap. “Uh. Alex. We have a problem.”

Alex, who’s come over to one side of the chair and is already gently peeling the tape from John’s neck, pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“We may have, uh, got some hair under here.” John gingerly pats his chest.

“Let me see?” John withdraws his hand as Alex slips a fingernail under the offending strip of tape. “Hm, we’ll have to be more careful next time.” And with that, he rips the tape straight off.

For a second, John just stares at him open-mouthed. And then the burn sets in. An inarticulate howl escapes him, one that gradually morphs into the word, “ _whyyyy.”_

Alex looks smug with a dash of sheepishness— a very Alex face. “It had to come off somehow, and we couldn’t get it wet. I figured best to get it over with.”

John inhales deeply. The sting’s already fading, and to tell the truth, he’s had worse waxes for swim team. This one was just so _surprising_. He still feels slightly betrayed, but Alex’s logic is sound.

“... fine,” he says, glaring with all the might his sleepy eyes can muster. But it’s hard to stay mad at someone when they’re helping you ease your sweaty, unwashed arm out of a trash bag. “And I guess… thanks.”


End file.
